


Autumn Chills

by ScaryFairy13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Fluff, Happy Ending, John is annoyed, M/M, One Shot, Sherlock is sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 02:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryFairy13/pseuds/ScaryFairy13
Summary: John hasn't had the best of days. He will come home to a comfortable flat... Won't he?





	Autumn Chills

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posted fanfic so I hope it isn't too bad.

Columns of smoke filled the skies of London as fireplace in each home were lit. The chilled breeze of Autumn blew through the streets as children giggled, splashing through the puddles created from the drizzle that followed the downpour of rain earlier that morning. Crisp leaves crunched under the foot of a short, stocky man who was quickly making his way to the nearest Tesco. Anyone who took one look at him could easily tell he was _this_ close to having a mental break down. It had been a stressful day at the the clinic, patient after patient complaining of the same thing, runny nose, sore throat, and coughing — the common cold. Most of the patients had been kind and understanding as he diagnosed them, but others had been completely petulant and down right rude. Listening to the whines and moans of ill people all day had made it hard enough for him to keep composed, but to add on top were the patients, who with scratchy voices, asked of his credentials, glowering at him all the while. John’s breath could be seen as he let out a weary sigh into the cold air as he continued his way down the leaf-strewn streets of London.

 

* * *

 

 

Opening the ebony door, John rubbed his sore shoulder, which had acted up from the chilly breeze. Anxiously, he bound up the stairs, excited to sit in front of the warm, crackling fire. As thrilled as he was, it soon diminished when he heard a loud /thump/ and the sound of glass breaking followed by a quiet curse and footsteps running about the room directly in front of him. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten in his head, John opened the door, ready to confront the mess that was evidently going to make itself present. Surely counting to the small number ten had been enough to calm his temper… definitely not. John’s mouth hung open as he stared at his flatmate somehow scurrying around the kitchen. Shards of broken glass and wood from their table covered the ground as well as a mysterious, green substance, that was most likely chemicals, that clung to every surface. Clenching his hand into a fist, John closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Opening his eyes only made his aggravation grow when his eyes met the now still, Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes.

“Ah, Hello John. How was the clinic?” Sherlock asked, the corners of his mouth lifting into a barely there smile. John felt a spike of anger run through him. Just as fast as fast as it came Sherlock’s lips dipped into a frown as his faced creased in confusion.

“John?” Sherlock asked once more, head tilting slightly. With that, John had finally reached his limit. With a piercing glare directed at the consulting detective, John dropped the Tesco bags on the floor, most likely breaking the eggs he had bought. As the doctor’s hand began to shake, He glared even harder at the man who had caused the chaos of their flat. With a shaking finger, John pointed at Sherlock, thoroughly prepared to give him a mouthful.

“SHERLOCK!” John roared, completely enraged.

“What have you done to the flat?! I’m gone all day at the clinic and you somehow **completely** destroy the flat in that time! Is that the table?! YOU BROKE OUR TABLE?!” John snarled, body quaking as anger fully taking over.

“You’re angry.” Sherlock quipped, raising a single eyebrow as he continued watching the smaller man burst at the seams.

“Of course I’m bloody angry, nice deduction there!” John stomped up to Sherlock, putting his shaking finger in his face and opening his mouth to pour out more of his anger.

“It’s not a big deal John.” The detective answered, shifting his weight before continuing. “You are overreacting.”

“I’M OVERREACTING?!” John’s face had become a bright red and steam could almost be seen coming out of his ears. “I have had a **hellish** day Sherlock Holmes and you have made it even worse!”

“Oh please John, it couldn’t have been _that_ bad.” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. John groaned loudly in frustration, grabbing and pulling at his hair before closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Taking a step back John looked at Sherlock before turning around and walking back out of the flat.

“I need some air.” John said coldly, before slamming the door shut.

 

* * *

 

 

The frozen Autumn wind cut through John’s thin jacket, causing a series of goosebumps to prickle on his skin. Pulling his jacket tighter around his frame, the doctor continued walking the streets of London. He was the only one on the street, most likely due to the drop in temperature. It was incredibly silent, other than the occasional cab that passed by. Checking his watch, John checked the time — 7:24. It had been about three and a half hours since he had left the flat. Blowing into his freezing hands, John looked through the window of a cafe. Pulling out his wallet, he realized he had used all his money, surely not wanting to use his card and have a row with the chip and pin machine, on the groceries he had dropped. John let out a choked sigh before shoving his wallet back in his pocket and turning around to walk back the other way.

 

* * *

 

 

As John opened the front door of 221B and climbed the stairs, he thought about just going straight upstairs but was interrupted by the door to the flat opening.

“John?” Freezing, John slowly turned around to face the voice. Sherlock stood in the doorway, with a spark of relief in his eyes. Before the doctor could ascend the stairs, the detective turned, leaving the door open, as if to say ‘follow me’. Sighing, John walked into the flat, jaw dropping for the second time that day. The flat was spotlessly clean, no chemicals or wooden debris littering the floor, counters, or walls. Looking in the kitchen, there was a new table in a rich, dark umber that stood with no scientific tools or chemicals on it. John’s thoughts were interrupted by the deep baritone of his friends voice.

“John, I am— what I mean to say is— well… I am sorry” Sherlock stumbled over his words. Pausing Sherlock looked at John before continuing.

“As you know, I am not good with emotions and sentiment, but I can see I obviously caused you unhappiness. I am sorry.” Walking back into the kitchen, Sherlock grabbed a mug— John’s mug. “I made tea.” Sherlock began, handing the piping mug to the doctor. “I also ordered Chinese, its in the fridge… I didn’t know if you would come back.” John looked into the swirling brown drink in his hands, it was earl grey, his favorite. John glanced up at Sherlock then back at his mug of tea. John felt tears prickle in his eyes, all the stress finally catching up.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” John said with a raspy voice. Sherlock stared at John for a moment.

“For wha-” Sherlock cut himself off before his lips curled into a small smile. “You’re welcome, John.” The detective placed an arm around his friend, guiding him to the kitchen. “Let’s heat up the food, I got kung pao, it’s obviously your favorite because you always order it. That strange show you like is going to be on soon, ‘Mr. Where’ was it?”

“Doctor Who.” John corrected with a small, coarse laugh.

“Irrelevant.” Sherlock huffed, with a slight curve to his lip he glanced at his friend as he put the chicken in the microwave.

  
  


* * *

 

 

“How does a blue box move?” Asked a confused Consulting Detective.

“It’s a TARDIS, Sherlock. It’s like a time traveling machine.” the doctor responded, eyes never leaving the TV.

“That’s ridiculous! No such thing exists.” Sherlock replied, face scrunching up in confusion and distaste. John huffed before leaning over to grab a fortune cookie. Removing the wrapper, he cracked the cookie in half and pulled out the slip of paper. Sherlock looked out of the corner of his eye before fully turning to his grinning flatmate.

“What?” The detective asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” John smiled, before placing the fortune on the table, and watching the British man with a fez dance around the television.

 

 

  
_Stop searching, happiness is just next to you._


End file.
